The War of 2012: American Aggression Held Back by Canadian Ingenuity
by Zivon96
Summary: In the year of the supposed apocalypse, the continent of North America erupts and Canada and America go to war... for utterly moronic reasons. This is the story of how I and an American forged a treaty that ended this senseless bloodshed and brought peace to the continent. This is the story of how I met DeadAliveManiac.


**The War of 2012: American Aggression Held Back by Canadian Ingenuity**

 **By: His Lordship, the Right Honourable Doctor, Professor, Consul, Cohen, Centurion Zivon96**

Ladies and gentlemen of Canada, I invite you to come back with me to a distant time in our proud nation's long and prosperous history of fighting hard and never once being recognized for any of our efforts. It was the year 2012, while Prime Minister Stephen Harper was still in office when our great nation was invaded by our oh-so-superior neighbours to the south, the United States of America, oh, sorry, pronouncing that wrong, the YOUNITED STATES UH 'MURRICA. Now, some of you may be wondering just why America, sorry, 'MURRICA would ever invade, as we are two of the most similar countries on the planet, as well as trade partners. Well, it all began in 2012 with the Mayan Calendar. For those of you smart enough to not pay attention to apocalyptic nutters around the world, allow me to educate you and help you lose just a little more faith in humanity. You see, the Mayans only had their calendar running for so long, with the last parts ending in December 2012, and many in the world, especially south of the border believed this could obviously only mean the end of the world, rather than, say, an ancient civilization couldn't be arsed to heft enough rocks into place to build more of their calendar. So, right after re-electing their black president, likely so that when the world ended they could blame the whole thing on him. Thanks Obama indeed.

Anyway, after finding out their miserable lived were definitely totally no seriously you guys coming to an end, many Americans chose what they believed to be the safe way out of this definite catastrophe and turned north. Their logic? Well, America is the world, therefore if they can escape it, they can escape the apocalypse, and they sure as hell weren't going to go to Mexico, that's for sure. And here's where the problems start, as so many of those Yankees brought their entire gun collections up with them, and as several pickup trucks full of M4s were driving across our border, a shooting was thwarted in Winnipeg and a new militia was formed in Calgary, calling itself the "Murricans fer Democracy," a group determined to destroy the definitely, really, seriously you guys evils of socialized healthcare and snow. No, seriously, that was their entire manifesto. It was at this point we decided that maybe letting these gun nuts across our borders with their entire arsenals might just be a bad idea, and so like the Yankees tend to do to anyone not from their countries, we told them to bugger off, and Christ, it was like that was just the excuse they were waiting for. I swear this is true, the crazy bastards were locked and loaded along the border, just waiting for the word "go."

That said, invading at the end of November was probably not their smartest idea.

See, anyone up here knows that once Old Man Winter rolls around, this place pretty much freezes over. Up to their hips in snow and facing a blizzard as far as the eyes could see, the Yankees resorted to a simpler form of warfare: fire blindly into the air and hope they hit something. Shame they were firing into empty fields, because they wasted a lot of ammunition. Once we let them burn up enough of it, we headed into battle in glorious Canadian fashion. First, our snipers softened up their ranks before we hit them with the big guns, and by guns, I mean bears. Grizzlies. With our men riding them. The second the first bear roared, the Yanks legged it, some screaming how this wasn't fair. Sorry fellas, but when you invade our country, you play by our rules. Now, being the peaceful types, we just wanted the rotten buggers out of our maple forests, so once they were over the border again, we started going easy, and didn't push too hard. So, we went back over the border to shovel our driveways and even left a few notes by what remained of the Yankees, letting them know just how sorry we were for this whole mess. Sure, we could have pushed further into Yankee territory, but there's something you just have to understand about Americans, and that's that they're loud and obnoxious, you try to do anything good for them, all they care about is that you're trying to give them free healthcare. It's like keeping a diseased bear in your apartment that refuses to wash and viciously mauls you when you offer to wash it yourself. Some might call it "oversensitivity" that the rudeness of the American citizenry is what kept us from pushing further, but I call it "efficiency" since we have enough to deal with on our own side of the border without having another shooting every other week.

So, thinking we showed them who was boss, we naively pulled back from the border. Just in time for the spring thaw. Within minutes, the Yankees were back across the border and were approaching Toronto and Ottawa. Within those same minutes, Mister Harper made a tactical decision, and had our men lead the Americans toward Quebec, thinking that A, the Quebecois might scare them off like surly jerks with foreign accents usually do, or they might fight back like they did back in the seventies. Turns out, the minute the Yankees entered the province, they just let out a string of French curses and raised the white flag. Oh, I see, you're perfectly happy to fight back and complain endlessly when it's Britain or Canada over your heads, but the moment someone else shows up you go silent. Thanks a lot Quebec.

The next few months were a harrowing exercise, as it seemed America was just on the cusp of victory in some areas, even as our Armed Forces fought back with all they had. I believe it was the battle of Niagara that was our greatest victory at the time, when we "allowed" the Yankees to find out we had a base at the base of the Falls. I watched through a set of binoculars as an entire regiment of what were supposed to be trained troops went over the falls in barrels. It may have been the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...

Until Claude and Maurice both yelled out how sorry they were and we had to abandon the city since they discovered our position. Why, yes I am salty about that, thank you very much.

Anyway, after that we started to get pushed back, those Yanks came from every direction, pushing us back until we hit Ontario. By this point, the war had been going on for just about a year, and the year 2013 was reaching October. This meant two things: fall was here, and winter was coming. The counterattacks in the quickly worsening weather began, as we started to push back against the 'Muricans. Socialized healthcare meant we could more easily treat any troops wounded in battle, but since we knew the terrain, we were suffering few if any casualties. That is, until America made one last push: they went for Ottawa. In a surprise attack, they stormed the city, catching our forces off guard. However, we had one strategy left: our best and brightest called it "Plan M."

In the biggest vat we could assemble in a single night, we emptied the entire city's reserves of maple syrup and brought it all to a boil. Fed up with the war and having the enemy literally knocking on our doors, we made them an offer. As one we screamed from the city "How about you Americans warm up, eh?" And with that, we let the syrup flow and the Yankees legged it, anyone who was caught in the syrup was frozen into a deliciously petrified corpse. It was like the most haunting and yet delicious statuary garden I had ever seen...

That was when the battle started to go our way, as just after the syrup hardened, we came back with our biggest guns, and by guns, I mean more bears. Polar bears this time. The polar bear cavalry had arrived, and by god, I could smell the soiled trousers from the back of our lines where I served as a wartime reporter. The Americans turned tail as the first bear roared, but surprise surprise, we had their escape blocked. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police in full uniform and on horseback had completely blocked off the border.

We were hoping a defeat like this would send America packing, perhaps with a bit of humility for starting a war for no good reason, a reason no one on the field could even remember anynmore. Seriously, it was like we had spent the past few months drinking Alexander Keith's rather than fighting (that's a Canadian beer to any Yanks who stayed around after the conflict). But back on track, the Americans were trapped between the Mounties on the border and the Polar Bear Cavalry behind them, but that was when the President intervened. In a call to the Prime Minister, he said that should a single shot be fired at his army, he would turn the Great White North into a smoking crater. Knowing just how trigger happy America could be, we sat back and waited as the snow began to fall.

Knowing there would be no peace until the war was brought to an end, we came up with a plan to beat the Yankees in one fell swoop. Underneath Ottawa, we built a special task force of our most highly trained soldiers and gave them a directive: infiltrate Washington, and just like we had done two centuries ago, burn the White House to the ground. They were dubbed the Brock Unit, and a day after receiving their instructions, they were sent on their mission.

Unfortunately, they stopped in the exact wrong place on their way to the capital, ironically enough, it was the site of the greatest victory of the real Brock over the American forces those two hundred years ago: Detroit. In one night, every single member of the Brock Unit but one was killed. Oh no, this wasn't by any American soldiers or even law enforcement. Everyone knows, there's only one law in Detroit, and that law is gang law. Be it by drive bys or just getting capped in the ass, all but one of the company was killed. The one man who escaped fed to Lansing, but he didn't last long. After something like that, a man needs a drink, but he should have guessed that the Canadian beer he was ordering at that little city bar was contraband. The second he ordered it, every Yankee in the bar simultaneously drew on him. The man muttered an apology and went quietly with the authorities.

Strangely enough, soon after his capture, several American sleeper agents in Ottawa itself confessed and requested asylum, saying that Canada was "so cultured" and that they wanted to join our "socialist utopia." It's amazing what the promise of socialized healthcare does for you. Anyway, the asylum seekers said that they were from California, sent over the border as sleeper agents to infiltrate Ottawa and destroy it from within. They'll be in for a rude awakening when they find out they still have to work for a living here.

Anyway, with both sides locked in a stalemate, Ottawa was worried we would descend into another cold war, and from what we could gather, down south they thought the same. This is where I came in.

Being Canadian and therefore peace loving and wanting to end this infernal conflict as soon as possible, we offered a peace treaty to the US, but their initial response was... well, let's just say it was unpleasant. And poorly written. We retaliated by sending over a jar of yellow snow and moose shit, but by the time it reached Washington the snow had melted. Though, from what I hear, they still tested to see if it was lemonade and chocolate...

Anyway, both sides simultaneously realized the same thing: neither one was willing to negotiate and the reasons were obvious. So many down south were just too stupid to properly negotiate and would likely just cause the conflict to begin again, whereas so many on our side were absolute pussies with about as much backbone as the average snowman. In the end, they decided to send me, my British heritage giving me more of a spine than the average Canadian, and my knowledge as a historian and sociologist as well as a wartime reporter giving me an edge to win over whatever ignoramus they put against me at the negotiating table. And they were right. I had only ever apologized once in my life.

However, it seemed America had a similar idea to ours, as they had selected someone they knew would walk all over the average Canadian, and someone I knew would be a tough opponent. Whereas most Americans owned guns to hunt for sport and defend their homes since the police were just out of the question, this guy was known for having a rack of swords next to his bed. His only comment on them: it makes things more fun. He was a tenacious bastard, and much more educated than the average American, having not actually dropped out of high school. They called him DeadAliveManiac.

It was summer 2013 when I first met my opponent, a Napoleonic figure in both size and attitude. Deciding to test the waters, I allowed him to set the first term on the treaty. He narrowed his eyes and stared me down. He first demanded that Nickleback be kept on the Canadian side of the border. Knowing that Nickleback had little power left and was just riding the end of their infamy, I jumped on the offer and immediately shot back with one of my own, one that I had been itching to declare since my younger days: Justin Bieber was their problem now. Before he could fire back with a threat, I reminded him that it would be a great boost to the economy if they could gain money off the little shit's concerts. He agreed, saying the rotten fruit industry would also skyrocket.

I then made my first demand, stating that American politics were to be kept out of Canada, meaning no meddling in the Oil Sands. He demanded to know why I hated freedom at that point, and declared that the best way to keep political ideas out of a country was just to build a giant fence. People, ideologies and even facts, he said, could all be stopped by a good solid wall. I actually laughed at this and asked if he intended to make Canada pay for the wall that they were going to build, saying it would keep "socialism" out of their country. He shot right back in my face, calling the whole idea "retarded," the idea that a country should make another country pay for an architectural project. I pointed out that maybe America could use some of our policies to better their country, but this guy got right up in my face, standing on a stool to look me dead in the eye. He said that America didn't need change, no matter how relevant or necessary. Sheesh, just trying to help...

His next demand was a fairly simple one, saying that AMERICAN football should be kept in AMERICA. Finding football to be one of the most boring and tedious sports on the planet, I was quick to accept, on the condition that America admit that the best of their hockey players were Canadian, something he was more than happy to agree to, saying something along the lines of "who the fuck cares about your ice faggotry?" An odd response, but an agreement nonetheless.

I then put forward one of my demands. Going back to the music industry, Canadian radio stations were becoming clogged up with shitty American pop music, and this absolutely needed to change. I said we needed a new chart for Canadian radio, one where it would be less clogged with their crap. I had said at the time "I don't care if it's a band of South Africans with an accordion, I'll gladly take it over half the shit from south of the border." He tried to pull a term of his own over me, saying that I would be locking out great acts like the Beatles, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. My blood ran cold, but I quickly retaliated, saying that my people had rights to music that was made in what was once the British Empire. They were descended from it just like we were, so we all had the same connection to the music. In the end, I got him to agree to my terms, and two years later, what do you know, a South African rock band featuring a prominent accordion found their way onto our charts. Take that shitty pop music!

His next demand was one that required some careful negotiating. We both knew an embargo would follow the war, but he demanded that a steady supply of maple syrup be sent from Canada to America. I knew this would not end well, as not only had "Plan M" cost a lot of syrup, but the war had decimated many a maple forest. He added onto the proposal, saying that American founded businesses like McDonalds would remain in Canada, but I needed to add a little more to the deal to help our great nation recover. I proposed that a tax be placed on all syrup going into the states. He immediately leapt on the offer, saying "when have taxes ever been an issue in American history, ever?"

There were only two terms left in the treaty, one I proposed, and one that he countered with. I first proposed that the terms "eh" and "sorry" (as pronounced in the Canadian manner, similar to "story" rather than the American "sahry") be made into Canadian words, and that we be given a stipend for them. He scoffed at me and said that he was fine with this, as America had no need for either of those words. However, he was quick to add to this that the words "Guuuns" and "turrist" be made into American words under similar conditions.

As we completed the document, I pulled out a pair of quill pens to sign with, as well as a bottle of maple syrup to sign in. Saying that he would sooner die than sign in the ink of the "Canadian warmongers" he instead chose to sign the document in the most American way I can think of: in bacon fat. I simply shook my head and added my own signature next to his. The war had officially drawn to a close.

After the treaty, I thought I would never see this DeadAliveManiac again. Our cultures were once again divided, and we had returned to our own separate sides of the border, but one day, he contacted me, asking if I would join him in his pursuits of glory. Out of a strange curiosity and for old time's sake, I agreed, so long as I got a share of said glory. It took a fair bit of negotiating, but now, three years later, the two of us have built what he calls our empire (though just to irritate him, I call it a republic). It was through this one young man that I learned the valuable lesson that certain Americans can be tolerated.

So to that end, I propose a toast. To three years working with one of the best and funniest men I've ever known, and a man I am proud to call one of my best friends: DeadAliveManiac. A brilliant author, determined to the point of bullheadedness and half the team who ended the great War of 2012.

To this day, he remains one of the best men I know and... what's this? Oh, it seems he's posted his own account of the events of the war under the title "The War of 2012: American Pride through Canadian Ass Whippings"... Interesting title... This may require... intervention...


End file.
